Postcard of a painting
by SlytherinElektra
Summary: Eames convinces Arthur to join a job that goes wrong. And there are consequences...
1. The job gone wrong

It had all gone wrong in a split second.

The minute the mark had seen that painting everything had gone to hell. That damn painting. That painting that had been in the room they were recreating. The operative word being "had". That same painting that had been sold three days prior had no business being there. He had packed, sold and let go of that painting so how could it still be there? The very militarized subconscious of the mark realized that it was all a dream and the projections killed them in seconds. It was a vicious attack and meant the unmitigated disaster of the mission.

Now it was the time to flee.

Not only their employers were onto them but the mark´s security too, afraid that they could have seen or discovered something they shouldn't while down there, on the man's subconscious. Eames knew these were dangerous people, but he thought they could handle them. Now he wasn't so sure. Fortunately, he was in London, and knew a lot of good places to hide. For a week, he bounced from friend's houses, to small inns and even youth hostels. Places filled with people, places with people he could trust. He could only hope the rest of the mission had been as lucky.

After a week hiding, he tried to contact the remaining members of the mission, to know if they were okay, if they had problems. They had parted ways after the mission debacle and he wanted to be sure no one was caught. If someone was captured all the people from the job would be in danger. Most of them were ok and had avoided all the brushes with the people that were after them. But someone was still unreachable. Ironically, it was the person that worried him the least. Arthur.

He had asked the point man to join the job shortly after he'd accepted it. And his part of the job had been impeccable, as usual. But now he wasn't answering any of his calls, texts or mails. He asked Dom, and the rest of the people from the mission. No one had seen or heard from him in the last week. As a last resort, Eames went to a small place Arthur had near the Golders Green station. There was no one there, no sign of the point man. And the place was thrashed.

Eames knew that Arthur was an extraordinary professional and that he was perfectly capable of defending himself, but he was getting worried. Arthur was reluctant to join the mission, he thought it was too risky. But Eames had insisted, told him to join, for old times' sake. And now he could be captured, tortured or even dead. He told himself that it was probably just a very thorough way of going off the grid…. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He would give Arthur two days to resurface, just two more days and then he would start to search him.

But the two days went by, and there was no sign of the point man. Eames started talking to his contacts in the business: extractors, chemists, clients… And also to the few ones he had on the MI6 and new Scotland Yard. After five days of searching he found a solid lead and an address.

The Waldorf Hotel, in right in the center of London. He should've known Arthur would be in a place like that all luxury and elegance. He checked in as a guest and as discreetly as possible went to the room number he'd been given (156). He listened a bit and when he didn't hear anything he came in. Yes, the door was locked, but he was a thief and a damn good one. No key card lock would stand in his way. He breathed deeply and entered, gun drawn, prepared for anything.

The big suite seemed to be vacated and no one came to greet him. No sound could be heard either. The first bathroom….empty. The big living room….empty. But when he entered the main bedroom he saw a figure tied to a chair and recognized it immediately.

"Arthur!"

He was at his friend's side in seconds. He knelt in front of him and took in Arthur appearance. His expensive shirt was torn and stained with blood. There seemed to be cuts everywhere you looked, in his arms and chest, and there were also bruises on his neck and face. His breathing was strained and his eyes were closed, so Eames tried to wake him, as softly as possible.

"Jesus, Arthur, what did they do to you?"

"Not gonna tell you… No, no" Arthur whispered when he felt the other man's presence, quite out of it. "Was… working… alone…"

Eames guessed that whoever was holding him captive had been pressing for information. And he'd said he was working alone to protect the rest. How very gentlemanly of him. He held his friend's face with two hands and looked in his eyes.

"Arthur, darling, it's me, Eames."

The point man's eyes focused and recognition dawned on them, followed bit what seemed to be a bit of panic.

"Eames? But…. You can't be here… Now, they'll get you too….You go, go, before…. before they come back."

The brit put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, trying to calm him.

"Hey. I'm not going anywhere without you, ok?"

He started undoing the ties, but it took him longer than expected. When he was finally able to cut Arthur loose he found that he could barely walk. Eames put his friend's arm around his head and supported his weight as best as he could.

"Really, Arthur, what did they do to you? Throw you under a truck?"

And again that look, as if he'd seen Eames for the first time and recognized him.

"Eames… you came… for me?"

But before the forger could answer Arthur went completely limp and almost fell. Eames had never seen the point man and such a horrible state and was worried. Where should he take him? When the captors came back and find him missing they'd search for them again… But Arthur needed medical attention, that much was clear. Ignoring the strange looks he received on the lobby, he called a taxi and told the driver to take them to the other side of the city. That way he would have time to think.

While on the car, Arthur's head fell into Eames' shoulder. He took in the bruises, cuts, abrasions and paleness. A wounded angel.

"I'll make it better, love." He told his friend's unconscious form. "I'll fix all of this."

A/N: Like it? Not? Hope you did! Would you care for the story to be continued? Any and all comments are appreciated! You know you want to review!


	2. The cheap hotel and the singing Arthur

EAMES PoV

The taxi driver looked funny at us, but I couldn't come up with an excuse why my friend would be that beaten and not going to a hospital.

Arthur remained unconscious and slumped against me while we went east through the streets of London. I thought about calling Cobb or Ariadne, who had been always closer to him and could provide some help… but they were continuing with their lives, probably in another country, maybe even in some other continent. No need to worry them with this, right? I wished Arthur would just wake up, moan, do something. I didn't know exactly the amount of damage that had been done and all this silence was maddening. No jokes or ironic comments have meaning when the other person is listlessly moving with their eyes closed.

I told the driver to pull us off in front of a small hotel in Hornchurch, far enough from the city center, the people and the damn warehouse where the job had taken place. Damn them. I should have never accepted it, I should have never called Arthur. He didn't deserve this. I gave the receptionist an extra 50 pound bill and he helped me bring the still sleeping Arthur to the room without asking questions. From the shady look of the place it was probably not the first time something like that was done.

Arthur rested on the queen-sized bed and I decided to forget all the doubts and the guilt and just pull myself together. Blaming myself was not going to heal his wounds. I approached his pale form to try and assess the damage. I carefully took his designer white shirt off to see why it was so stained. It was half open and I could see a bit what the problem was, but I wasn't really prepared for what I saw.

Lots of angry red gashes crossed his chest along with different coloured bruises. There was dried blood around the cuts, cuts that were still red and raw. There were red streaks surrounding some of the cuts, which meant they were probably infected. His face was not as damaged (only some minor cuts, a split lip and a big bruise under the left eye) Worst of all there horizontal red lines on his neck. Those bastards hadn't only beat the hell out of Arthur, they'd been strangling him too. Damn them. I felt my anger rising, but now was not the time for that, not the time to be distracted. Now I have to concentrate on my fallen colleague. Fallen friend, even.

When I first met Arthur I never thought I would end up liking the lad. He seemed stuck up, boring, uninteresting. Sour, even. The Fischer job had changed that in many ways. I realized that under the sober exterior there was real talent. He handled all that security form the hotel by himself. He got us down without gravity. Yes, the man was a bit pessimistic but he did the most incredible jobs in a clean and efficient way. And those last jobs in which we worked together had improved my opinion of the point man. Arthur had saved me from some projections the previous year and it was thanks to that that we managed to fulfill that job. And now he was hurting and I didn't like it.

I needed some medical supplies but I didn't want to leave, so I _borrowed_ the first aid kit that was the kitchen of the hotel. It was after midnight, no one was up, and I knew how to be silent.

"I'm sorry, but this is going to sting a bit."

I told the still unmoving Arthur as I prepared myself to clean the wounds. As expected, he reacted to the pain and stirred. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at me, confused.

"Welcome back, pal. Did you sleep well?"

"Eames..?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper "What…. What happened?"

I continued to clean the wounds, relieved to see him awake and reasoning.

"You tell me, I found you tied down on a chair on a fancy hotel, beaten bloody. Care to explain how you ended up there?"

"God… the job… the painting….. Hearst's people cornered me… They were only two, I thought I could escape….They left me alone half the time….But those ties were impossible…."

I remembered how long it had taken me to untie Arthur and how I didn't see anyone watching him. It made sense. Good news was that Hearst only seemed to have two thugs to spare and they didn't seem to be incredibly committed.

"You came for me…" It was spoken so softly I almost missed it. "You risked yourself… shouldn't have…"

"Of course I did, darling. As condescending and snobbish as you may be, I was not going to let you be killed. You're not THAT bad." I answered, managing one of my flashy smiles.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, love."

I finished cleaning the wounds, put on some disinfectant and wrapped them, as best as I could with some gauze. Arthur was asleep half of the time, only waking up for separate minutes. It was OK, he needed the rest. I was exhausted too, so I slumped on a sofa chair on the other side of the room. I said goodnight and closed my eyes, as uncomfortable as I was on that chair. I had a haunting dream (one of the few I had in many years, after entering the extraction business) about being trapped in the dream world with angry projections attacking. Arthur was there as well, and I tried to defend him, but there were so many projections, and they had guns and knives and…. I abruptly awoke and breathed heavily. We were safe, at least for now. This half vacated hotel was in the middle of nowhere and I'd chosen it randomly.

Then I heard something, something coming from the other side of the room, a soft voice.

"I want some, come on take it, of all of you… it's yours, trickin' me…"

"You're so cruel, more than me, it is true….."

Odd. Of all the time I had spent with Arthur, after everything we'd done together I would never, ever thought the day would come in which I heard him… singing. Hell, such a notion hadn't crossed my head once. I didn't even think he could sing.

"I'm so young and beautiful, that's right, I'm slick and I'm no fool…."

Wow. This was a whole new side of Arthur I didn't know about. He sang in bed. Point man/Singer. I decided I liked this side, too, turned on the bright lights and went over to him.

"Arthur?" He was extremely pale and a bit sweaty, only half-covered by a sheet and his bloodstained shirt. He looked at me with shining eyes.

"Eames" A lazy smile appeared on his face "You came."

"Are you all right?"

"Couldn't sleep. Head hurts… and my chest…. and everything hurts….'m hot."

"I already knew that, love." I replied. My god, was I being flirtatious with Arthur of all people? I put my hand on his forehead and found it to be too hot. It seemed that despite my efforts some of the wounds had gotten infected and he was now running a fever. "Do you want some cold water?"

The brunette nodded and shifted uncomfortable in the bed.

"So" I asked, while giving him the water "do you always sing when you can't sleep?"

"It distracts me from the headache and the pain" he answered, returning to his usual practical sense." Do you mind?"

"Why would I mind being soothed by your silky voice?"

Maybe it was just the fever but I think I saw him blushing. Well, well, first singing Arthur and now shy maiden Arthur? I was really beginning to enjoy this. But it was late, and I returned to my chair to try and sleep some more.

"Eames, there's room for you here if you want to." Well, this was a surprise. One of the most distant men I knew inviting me into his BED? The fever was affecting him more than he knew. "I mean, I've slept in a chair for the last week and it's something I wouldn't wish on anyone, it's quite uncomfortable, and since you're obviously paying for all and you're probably very tired…"

I interrupted his little speech, even if it was being delightful.

"I have one condition. You'll have to sing me to sleep."

He nodded with his flushed yet pale face and the smile reached his eyes. "You got that."

So I took off my shoes, still a bit shocked by this turn of events, and lay next to him, under that lone sheet, while he started singing. His eyes opened and closed a lot, the fever getting to his head. Still, his voice didn't waver.

"If I could only reach you, if I could make you smile, if I could only reach you, that would really be a breakthrough."

And while I heard him and got comfortable I thought about the days I spent frantically looking for him, about the anxiety when I found him beaten and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Then I thought about how he had protected everyone saying he was working alone and the kind gesture of not letting him sleep in the chair and inviting him to the bed. Yes, I was liking this.

And I liked his voice while he continued to sing.

"Break through these barriers of pain…. Breakthrough into the sunshine from the rain…"

A/N: Did you like it? No? I really hope you did! Excuse any English mistakes, it's not my mother tongue, and I can only do my best. Anyways, do comment on whatever you liked/disliked (preferably the former ;) )!If anyone is wondering Arthur is singing Queens of the stone age's "First it giveth" and then Queen's "Breakthru". I could do another chapter with Arthur's POV or a third person continuation if anyone is interested.

You know you want to review!


	3. Postcard of a painting

Arthur POV

When I woke up, I felt strange, different. I was not in that infernal chair anymore, but in a soft and warm bed, with clean, fresh sheets. And there was someone with me in the bed, breathing rhythmically. I happily moved closer and went back to sleep with a smile.

The next I opened my eyes, I wasn't feeling half as good. I felt too hot and sticky, my throat was dry and my head was pounding. And I had no idea where I was. The sheets were pink (pink, of all possible colours) and there was a white-and-pink lamp on the nightstand. Ok, where the hell was I?

That was when I heard it.

"Your eyes are big when they're so close... why can't we say goodbye in public..."

That Eames' voice. Eames' singing voice, more specifically, merrily singing while he paced around the room. The it came to me. The job, the job that had gone so horribly wrong. Reading's men, the beating, the hotel room and that damned chair. I was going to have nightmares with that chair. I also quite vaguely remembered someone coming for me, untying me. I was also vaguely aware of what happened last night, my headache and the pain... I looked down on myself and saw that I had only my boxers on and my wound were covered by all kind of bandages. What the...?

"Morning, sunshine. Feeling any better?" Eames and his accent both said at the same time. I looked at him and he had one of his sly smiles on "I guess you are, seeing that were cuddling in your sleep."

I could feel the heat climbing into my face. Oh, oh god, oh god. Eames had been in my bed. It was him the one who was in my bed earlier. Oh god. I tried to pull myself together thinking about something else.

"Could you get me some water, please, Eames?"

"Of course, love."

When he came back he was singing again.

"Picture me with you... but you couldn't do it..."

I widen my eyes when I saw that he sat on the bed, right next to me and put his hand on my forehead, like it was the most normal thing to a colleague. Again, what the...?

"You're still too warm. We'll give you one more day to get well and then get moving, all right?"

I looked at him, still wide-eyed, trying to express my confusion at this sudden closeness. And I was feeling REALLY self-conscious. Eames (who had just someone with whom I exchanged job ideas and some ironic jests from a comfortable distance) had obviously taken off my clothes and cleaned and dressed my wounds. He had seen me dirty, with old dried blood all over me and taken those clothes I had been wearing for a whole week... And he had seen almost naked, had seen all my scars. Where had my carefully designed walls of courtesy gone? Where had my suits gone?

Where was my cool?

As I considered this and other things there was a knock on the door that startled me and I looked for my gun, safe under the pillow as I normally did (Had Eames done that too?).

"I ordered a nice breakfast in bed" Eames said going to the door "With extra orange juice for our poor sick lad."

But as soon as he opened the door, there was a man on him. And soon the other came through the door: Reading's thugs. But this time they were not going to get me. I speedily grabbed the gun and in a few moments disarmed the one of them, barely aware that I was still in my underpants. I had one of bare feet in the guy's throat and I was pointing the gun directly at his face. I also took his car keys, cell phone, wallet and I was thinking of borrowing his suit when I looked back to see how Eames had fared.

"Looks like you're feeling better, eh, darling?"

Eames was also pointing a gun at the other guy and taking his things. I was glad for that.

"Yes. Sorry, I lead them here."

"Nonsense. Let's tie up this guys and leave, shall we?"

"Sure."

So we tied those thugs down (and it was very satisfactory considering the hellish week I'd lived because of them) and put them in empty closet of the room. By the time we were done I was feeling quite dizzy and the suddenly all my wounds starting to hurt again. And I was still in my boxers. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath again. The last two weeks had been horrible. The job, almost impossible to do, putting all that pressure in my shoulders. And then getting caught by those guys. And then a horrible week in a chair and when things started to get a bit better we had to escape again, continue to look for more threats. I was so tired. Of everything. But I had to keep going, if not for my sake for Eames'.

"All right, I'll go get dressed and we can leave." I said, solemn. And then saw my dirty bloodied suit. I really, really didn't want to wear that again. "Could you give me two minutes to shower? I need to clear my head."

Eames nodded and I went to the bathroom. It was a very nice place, all things considered. The shower curtain and complementary soaps were also pink. As I went under the water, pink was suddenly the best colour in the world. That shower was heaven after a week of hell. A knock on the door. Again. And this time I was even more naked. It opened and...

"It's just me, Eames, dropping off some clothes without looking... much."

"Go away, Eames." I said, but I had to admit that I was amused. And dropping off the clothes had been a nice touch, so I didn't to get out of the room wearing only a towel. Usually I was careful with this kind of things but the reapparance of Reading's thugs had unsettled me. I came out, refreshed, feeling like a new person. And then I saw the clothes, some faded jeans and black t-shirt with a group's name on it.

"Joy Division?"

I asked through the wall while I dressed.

"Yeah, I asked the guy in reception if he had something decent for you in lost and found and voilà. I know it's not exactly your style but..."

"It's clean. It's perfect." I said as I came out of the bathroom "Thank you, Eames. What?" I asked, when I saw that two trays of food had appeared in the room.

"I told you I had ordered breakfast in bed, love."

"Is it wise?" I asked, knowing that there was no room left in that closet for no more men.

"I texted Reading form one of the guys cells, told him that they had found us in Cardiff and were driving back to London, so we have about three hours of safety. Enough time to have this nice breakfast and drive to Gatwick."

"Gatwick?"

"I charged a couple of flights on this guy's credit cards. We're going to Paris! I was always have a couple spare fake passports, so it will be as if we never left London."

"And when his men don't come back, Reading will think that his thugs have flown to avoid his anger for not finding me and simply hire new ones. Not a bad plan, Eames. And I think Ariadne is still there, finishing her studies, we could pay her a visit."

"Indeed." And then he signaled at the food "Shall we eat?"

And we sat down on the bed and started eating. It all looked pretty good, there was tea, bread, chocolate muffins, croissants, yogurt... and a lot of orange juice, as promised. After a week of being almost starved, it was a most welcome sight. But I had to talk to Eames. He'd done all this for me, and I was starting to feel a bit wrong. I needed to apologize.

"I am sorry. I put you in danger and put all the mission in danger..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" He interrupted me. I was almost grateful because this was a bit awkward. Yes, I wanted to apologize for putting them in danger, for getting caught, for everything... But it wasn't my favorite kind of conversation. I was not good at this kind of thing. "If anyone should be apologizing here it's me, pal. You said you didn't want to come, you said it was too dangerous, and it was."

"Anyway, I owe you one." I added.

"You don't owe anything, love, I was only cleaning up the mess I made."

Will the stubborn man not let me be grateful for once? Jesus!

"But the bandages, the clothes, the fancy breakfast... You helped through a rough patch. And I thank you." That was it. I finally said it.

"It was no problem. I enjoyed this, too. The late night singing... the cuddling in the morning..."

I gave him an icy stare and raised my voice to say:

".HAPPENNED."

"Oh, la, la, looks like I've got me some dirt on the impeccable Arthur! I will be using this, no doubt." Another of those naughty smiles.

I gave him a punch on the shoulder and smiled, too, while I continued eating my breakfast. Eames and I continued talking while we ate and then got in the car to the airport. We even sang some songs on the way. There we were, two highly qualified professionals, singing our hearts out on a stolen car.

"Friends will be friends...right to the end!"

And those word had never been more true.

FIN

A/N: Did you like it? No? Hope you did! Reviews are lovee! The songs that appear in this chapter are Maximo Park's Postcard of a painting and Queen's Friends will be friends. Sorry for any English mistakes! You know you want to review!


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